Every Now and Then - Part 2
by SiSuHu
Summary: [Destiel] This is Part 2 of my story "Every Now and Then", so please read the first part first, before this one, so that you get all the references
1. Chapter 1: The Tickle

**Chapter 1: The Tickle**

I remember. We were sitting at one of those dark wooden tables, with the lamps on them. You weren't sitting some chairs away from me, like usually, at some other table, but with me and opposite to me. I don't know, when you had started with that, but I didn't mind. Not at all. I liked you near me and I had always found it weird that you kept so much distance to me. During the past few days I had realized that I even needed your closeness. It wasn't that I needed it to survive, like air to breathe, but sometimes it felt a little like it. You were leaned back in your chair and appeared relaxed and calm even. Your eyes were resting on me, as they always seemed to be, apart from when you closed them. Mine were pointed at a book about vampires. God, I love vampires. I don't know what it is, but something about them fascinates me. I'll admit, I'm kind of obsessed with them and with hunting them. It always starts tickling inside me, like when you take a very cold or very hot shower and the water hits you for the first time, or when the temperature turns from hot to extremely cold within a second, like when a ghost appears. Or like when you're inside an elevator and it starts going down. It's a nervous, uneasy, arousing tickle that feels somehow amazing and satisfying in a strange way, whenever I get to chop off one of their heads. First comes slowly, but then all at once.

My eyes slid over the pages of glorious information, but every now and then I couldn't help but get distracted by the sudden urge to look and see if you were still there, and smiling when I discovered that you were. I didn't know what we were or where we were going, but we definitely had something. I can't put it in words, but I could feel it. In everything, the air around us, the tables we were sitting at, the Scotch we drank together every single night, and in your eyes. It was there, but I couldn't really grasp it yet, for I didn't really understand it. But everything we did and everything we said and everything we felt even seemed to have shifted, changed, into something new. I didn't need further evidence for it to be real. As a hunter I can't afford not to be open-minded about things, like when we had to deal with something we hadn't dealt with before; just because I hadn't seen it before, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And likewise I didn't have had to experience love before to know what it is and how it feels.

My phone rang and startled me out of wherever I had been. My attention was on the phone and the call coming in. For a moment I only stared at it, unsure whether to take or ignore it, but then I decided to answer. The voice on the phone was Rick's, a hunter friend of mine. I've known him for several years, every once in a while we worked together on a case and somewhere along the way, despite his headstrong and lone-wolfish nature, he had become a dear friend. He was just telling me about a job involving fangs, as I turned my eyes back at you and couldn't help a smile spreading in my face. Admittedly it wasn't really directed at you and your own one, but at what Rick was saying. I hung up and there it was. The tickle inside me, rising from deep down quietly but heard and making me nervous with excitement. Like a bushfire burning it all down and destroying everything I ever thought of, so that I could only think of vampires now.

"What is it?" you asked.

"We have a job," I announced so cheerfully, it was almost as if I was talking about something nice, but really, it actually was for me.

"That was Rick," I said after a brief pause, not caring that you didn't know him, "he told me about a vampire nest outside Wisconsin a couple of days ago already. We're in."

I closed the book and almost ran out of the room towards Sammy's, because I just had to tell him. In that moment I didn't really care that I left you alone in that room, then again, you weren't a child I had to watch. You were a grown man, who could handle himself for a minute, and I was way too happy and excited about getting the chance to chop off some vampires' heads to stop and make sure everyone was okay with that. Maybe a little selfish, but I didn't mean to.

I was so blind. Had I paused for just a split second and looked at you, really looked at you, I might have discovered that there was something off about you. I would have seen the doubts and fears and uneasiness in your face and eyes and would have understood that you weren't as excited as I was, that some idea or bad thought was developing inside your angelic head. I could have prevented us from getting weird around each other later. But like I said, I was blind.


	2. Chapter 2: Your Thoughts

**Chapter 2: Your Thoughts**

It was the day after, when I was packing in my room. I was stuffing clothes and other things into my bag. So excited and full of anticipation, I was almost hurrying a little too much. I heard a knock on my doorframe and soon after saw you come in. I smiled at you and absent-mindedly tightened the hold on the red-brown plaid shirt in my hands. I rolled and twisted it around, as if I needed something to play with, for my hands needed occupation. My face must have looked somewhat strange to you, because you seemed really puzzled and distracted. I desperately waited for you to say something, but you appeared to be just as lost for words as I was. Minutes passed with us both awkwardly standing there in silence, looking into each other's eyes. It would have almost been amusing, if it wasn't for something I discovered in your look. I wasn't able to fully recognize it, but it was somewhere near something like fear.

"Hello," you suddenly interrupted the silence with a raspy and weird voice.

"Hey," I gave back, my head empty as sheer nothingness. I wasn't quite understanding what was happening, but I was sure something was. Though I couldn't find enough courage to simply ask you what was wrong, which is funny, because I usually always could. But the thing between us, that new unknown thing, it seemed just so fragile and threatened also. I believed almost anything, any wrong put word that could possibly be said, could make it break or disappear or just vanish into thin air. As if we were a piece of pottery that already had a crack here and there and words could make it fall down and shatter to pieces. While realizing that in between another while of silent staring, I got scared, too.

"Uhm…," you then began, "… you're packing?"

"Yup," I just replied, because all that rising fear inside me seemed to jump at my throat and make me lose the ability to speak.

"When do you leave?" you asked.

"Tomorrow," I said and could practically feel how much you disliked that fact. You weren't actually the subtle kind of person, I could see how unpleased you were, so I made a cautious step towards you, like I would approach an injured bird and try not to shy it away.

"You okay?" I asked straight out into the world, so blunt and simple that it almost failed the complex situation we were in. I was worried. Worried for it to break and shatter, and worried for me to be the one that was throwing it down.

"Yes, I…," you stammered, but never finished your sentence. You seemed lost in your own head, stuck even. I could see how your eyes were moving to and fro, unsure where to settle, because really, they weren't searching for something in this room, but for something in your mind. It was as if there were endless possible constellations of opinions in your head, and you just couldn't tie yourself down on any of them. I watched you struggling and thought to myself, maybe you didn't want me to go without you. And I didn't want to go without you either. I was excited to see Rick again after such a long time, but Rick was not you. And I saw you worrying about something, even when I couldn't quite grasp what it was yet.

"Just come with us," I suggested after a while and to me it seemed like the solution for it all.

"Uhm… yes. Okay." You finally gave with a surprised face and I wasn't really sure, if you were actually happy with it. I tried to find out what was going on in the little head of yours, but it seemed pointless to just ask you, for you probably didn't know yourself.

And then a train of thought crossed my mind and I thought to myself, maybe you were jealous. I wouldn't know how anyone could ever be jealous because of me. Jealousy appears when something's important, and I just didn't feel important enough for that. Also, I've always tried to make the ones I cared about feel like they're special to me, even if for only a short amount of time, considering some of the relationships I had, if one could even call them that, haven't lasted too long. I've always been a go-getter, a womanizer and charmer, but never a cheater or a liar. So I asked myself, why you would even consider me to pay attention to anyone other than you. You were the important one, the one that I cared about, that was special to me. So there was no need to be scared, let alone think that someone like Rick would change anything. Maybe we were still fragile and insecure and dangling on a string in a way even, but we were not at all in danger.

That kiss we had shared might have been pretty long ago, and I might not know yet, if it would happen again or if I would want it to happen again, but we were still as close as we could possibly be. The day would come, where we would have to talk about it, but that day wasn't now and today. I needed to think about everything first, try and understand it, grasp its essence, feel its presence. It would take time, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever actually come to a conclusion. But what I was sure about was the fact that once you had a thought, it's hard to unthink it.


	3. Chapter 3: The image you were

**Chapter 3: The Image you were**

I remember how it used to be. How it all started. How it had scared me at first, but then not anymore. I don't remember when that strange puzzle we were had started putting itself together, but at some point it must have happened. I can't say it has always been inside me, I can't even say it has been love at first sight, or at second or third or fourth sight, or whatever you might call it, but for some reason something about you just doesn't seem to stop changing me. I feel like you were making me a better person, bit by bit and piece by piece. We had become closer and closer over time, inexorably, unbreakably, and rapidly even. Grown together by the days that had passed and the things we had done and the experiences we had made.

And there had been some kind of dynamic between us from the start. At first I've been fucking scared of you. You've been that unkillable, unfightable creature I haven't known exists from a place I haven't known exists either. You've been respectable and respected, daunting and daunted yourself maybe. You wanted obedience, but all you got was question and arguing. I've known absolutely nothing about you, not what you planned and what you wanted and what you were doing in my life. All I had was the instinct to kill such a dangerous creature, while I had no fucking clue how to.

You've been that supernatural thing, and it hasn't mattered to me that you were from heaven or sent by god himself, trained so my whole life, I somehow thought I need to kill you. But for you being so powerful, even powerful enough to pull me out of hell and back to earth, I had no idea how I was supposed to do that. And why. The false instinct and reflexes that had been put inside my head since I was a kid got me nothing but confusion and I seriously struggled with being stuck between my dad's training and my own belief. If I even had anything like that. And you've been right, back then, I really didn't think good things happen, for I never saw anything good happening. My life was full of shit and disappointment and death. How would I have something like optimism or a good feeling about anything, when life constantly proved me wrong? I didn't have the chance Sam had, to go out into the world and live a normal life for once. I've been hunting evil ever since and still do now. Defeating creatures that weren't human and were inhuman. Us against the evil, that's how it's always been. And then you appeared and suddenly I started doubting all that. Subconsciously and not within my reach, but I really did. You twisted it all and changed my way of thinking, even when at first I protested heavily.

And suddenly it wasn't us against the world, us - me and Sammy and Bobby and all the other hunters. Suddenly for the fights I needed to fight I only wanted you and your help. I somehow shifted from a self-assured independent hunter with his family he's still got left to a person that couldn't seem to help himself, because he had that heavenly entity by his side, who would do anything he wants and make it all so much easier.

And there we had it then, our dynamic. I'm not saying it's a healthy one or even fair to any of us, but at some point I started controlling you by simply threatening to think bad of you. It's funny how I think so bad of myself, but still manage to make people feel guilty by only telling them I'd think bad of them. How come that my opinion of them is so important to them? And how come that I always feel like I need to manipulate people in order to make them do as I say? It's like my desperate attempt to make sure they love me, like a test I put upon them, seeing if they'd do it for me. And on you it worked so damned well. It was like you forgot everything around you, everything you've ever known and understood. We've developed our own language and our own kind of way to treat each other. I only had to say that I wouldn't talk to you anymore or want anything to do with you anymore, and you instantly made a complete turnaround and changed your mind. It was sheer blackmail.

I wanted you to be what I needed you to be. There for me. Helping me get myself through my life. Telling me I'm not wrong and that I'm wronged. Helping me up, when I fall, yelling at me and beating me even, when I'm about to make a bad decision or a mistake. I needed you to tell me who I am, for I didn't know that myself sometimes. And I did fall, all the time. Especially when it was about you. I've fallen for you, in every possible and imaginable kind of way.

This was clearly no friendship. It was something far beyond that, something twisted and unhealthy and weird and something that bothered and enlightened and encouraged me all at once. What we had was something so rare, so special and unique, no book or man had ever heard of it, as if it wasn't supposed to exist. And that's why it's so difficult to name and to understand. It's simply unlikely to happen. And yet, it happened. It happened so fast and unnoticed, even by us, that we hadn't even seen it coming. And once we saw it then, it was like we had been hit by a lightning bold of realization we weren't able to realize just yet. So we just went onward on our road to whatever and continued intervening in each other's being without any logic or reason. Because there was no space between us for reason. Overwhelmed and driven by feelings. And that's not something friends do.

It wasn't anywhere near perfect. It was messy and it hurt and it got us fighting and yelling and quitting, only to get back into each other's life again. Only even imagining how it could be, even while it wasn't yet, gave me the will to go on, to never let go of it. I tried to reach you, so many times, I tried to better us, to better myself to make it work, but then again, you can't ever get all the way inside someone else, can you? And no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to fully get through to you and behind that angelic little head of yours to be able to understand your ways of thinking and doing. I couldn't imagine you, for I didn't understand you, so I settled on imagining myself being someone else. Told myself I didn't want you, that I didn't need you here or wherever, just somewhere else, imagined the world being something else even. For that was my only way in really.

And I remember that day then. After we'd been driving around for several hours in my beloved Impala, we finally arrived at our aim. Sammy had been sitting shotgun and you were in the backseat, visibly unhappy, though. Sam and I had been talking about the case, me being totally enthusiastic, for my constant love for vampire hunts and hunting itself, as usual, and Sammy being his skeptic questioning self, for his constant distrust of other hunters, also as usual. At some point I had had enough of chit-chatting and maneuvering myself out of the corner Sam had put me in and turned the music too loud for him to drown it out. Every now and then I had looked back at you through the rearview and found you muted and bored maybe.

When we reached Fox Lake, Wisconsin, I parked the Impala on the parking lot in front of some motel a little outside Fox Lake, in Waupun. Inn Town Motel wasn't special, it was as any other motel we had been to. It was painted in some beige-ish color and had grey roofs. The parking lot had obviously seen better days, while it was wet and streamed by the rain shower there had just been, it held some puddles here and there I had tried to avoid driving into, because I didn't want that dirt being splashed onto my precious car I had freshly cleaned by hand not long ago. We walked through a white glass door into the main building that overshadowed the whole place in a way. Behind the reception a cute pretty girl was set and I wondered what a beautiful little thing like her was doing in a place like that.

Finally in our room for the night, I instantly hoped it would be for only one night, because even when it sure looked better than some other rooms we had stayed in, it was still kind of ugly. It had two beds, a kitchen, the usual disgusting bathroom and a table with two chairs. The walls inside there were just as beige-ish as the walls outside and the carpeted floor was kind of black. The beds looked nice though, with their dark wooden head pieces and the pillows neatly arranged on them. I supposed I could get a good night sleep in them.

"Cas? You okay?" I asked, when I watched you falling onto one of the chairs, looking like a kicked dog or a sad kitten. You glanced up at me and even when something somewhat happy flickered in your eyes, I could see that you were struggling with something.

"Yes, I…," you stammered, as if you were trying to come up with a last-minute excuse, "… just feel a little sick from the long drive"

And there it was, your lame-ass excuse. I knew you normally didn't get sick, unless you had fallen from heaven and were turning into a human being, or you miraculously felt human needs, because of something like a Horseman or a witch or any supernatural creature, who could do that, or when you had lost your grace or were slowly running out of it, because it wasn't actually yours. So I did a step towards you and worry rose inside me like the sheer realization that you had just been lying to me. And whenever you're lying, something real bad had happened, I knew that by now. Your eyes, however, showed nothing but a strange cloudiness, as if you were lost in thought or lost in general, or - if I didn't know better - as if you were high.

I tried to come up with anything to say in order to make you tell me the truth. Maybe, I thought, I could say _if you don't tell me what's wrong now, I won't be speaking to you at all for the rest of the day. _Or _don't you dare and lie to me, dumbass, I know something's wrong, so you better tell me, or I'll find out myself and be mad at you. _But then I realized something. I didn't need to threaten you anymore to make you do something. And I didn't want to either. There was no need or reason for blackmail here. So I put my hand on your shoulder softly as I could and looked into your eyes, without threat and blackmail, without telling you what to do or what not to dare to do. I simply smiled at you gently and lost my head over imagining what could be and what could happen. But nothing ever happened at all.


	4. Chapter 4: The Problem you had

**Chapter 4: The Problem you had**

About two hours later we came by Rick's house. It stood somewhere in the middle of the woods. We got out of the car and as always you were taking it all in, the landscape, the air, the weather, the birds, the dirt on the ground even. It's weird how you manage to always look like you see something for the very first time, as if you hadn't been to a forest before. You probably had been in the woods a million times, though. When I looked at the wooden cabin in front of us, I saw Rick already standing on the veranda. He smiled his ever so cautious smile and I walked towards him with just the same on my own face.

I embraced him and exchanged some polite small talk. When his eyes found you, I could tell he was skeptical. But that was just how Rick was, he wasn't the friendly kind of person, in fact he hated to meet new people. And he sure as hell wasn't too fond of meeting an angel, for all supernatural creatures were the same in his eyes. To be exterminated. But he knew you were family to me, so even when he dearly wanted to, he wouldn't lay a finger on you.

He motioned in your direction and said, "So that's him then, huh?"

I nodded and looked at you, too, trying to smile, when I wasn't for smiling at all. It wasn't that I was embarrassed of you, not at all, I just didn't like to feel like someone is questioning my sense for choosing who I work with. Like I wasn't capable of making the right choices. Like I was irrational and out of my mind or something like that. I didn't like when someone didn't see you the way I did, and even when I probably didn't act like it on the outside, I did defend you with all I had in the inside.

"That is Cas," I said a little uneasily. You did a weird wave of your hand, but clearly avoided his eyes. And for a brief second I wished you could just for once act like a normal human being. But you weren't normal and you weren't a human being, so who the hell was I kidding.

We went inside and Rick filled us in on the case. There were two pretty old vampires trying to build up a new nest and as if I was just getting birthday presents, I sucked in all the information eagerly and excited. Every now and then I would look over to you, only to find you barely even listening. Sam at least - even if he didn't like Rick all that much - listened and took some notes to be prepared for whatever expected us.

I liked Rick a lot. I even admired him in a way. He was this strong, down-to-earth person, always fighting for the good, always winning, always surviving. He was one of the best hunters I knew, and if there's one thing I respect, then it's effort and a strong will for doing the right thing to do. We weren't that type of friends, who tell each other everything, hell, we never actually told each other anything about our respective lives, but we were still friends. Bonded by the same will and goal, living lives that weren't too different from one another. I barely knew anything about him personally, but I knew he was good and I knew he was good at hunting. And that's enough for me.

Maybe I even looked up to him in a way. Or maybe it was envy. All I know is that I could be carefree around him, in peace and calm, because the thing I liked most about Rick was that I didn't have to protect him. I have so many people in my life that I need to protect and save and keep saved, I need to look out for them and sometimes even have to make sure they make their own right decisions. It's this constant task I have burdened on my shoulders, and while all people want to protect their loved ones, in my case I actually do have to protect them on a regular basis and with my own life. And I would die for any of them, I would die for all of them. I would die for you, if I had to. But that task kept me on my feet day and night, never left my conscious, never let me sleep unconcerned and peacefully. So it was nice to have a friend I didn't need to look out for, because Rick was capable of protecting himself.

And then you suddenly stood up and excused yourself, walking out the door with your back to me and not sparing me another look. And I thought about if I had said or done anything wrong, if I had offended you or if anyone else did. But I was startled out of my train of worry by a tense questioning look of Sam's eyes. I tried to read in them what he blamed me for this time, but I didn't manage to know.

"What's with feather-head?" Rick asked amusedly and I shot him a look so briefly angry and so quickly turned to annoyed that he didn't know how to read it.

"Dunno, man," I just gave, rolling my eyes theatrically and pretend, "maybe he just needs some fresh air"

"Why'd you bring him along anyway?" Rick asked and I could feel a hint of disgust in his voice.

"He's family," Sam answered, when I just stared at Rick in bafflement and sheer unability to find words.

"Right," Rick said in a weird uncomprehending way, "why, though?"

"What you mean why?" I shot, when I found my voice back. Rick just raised his hands in pretend apology and as if I was pointing a gun at him instead of my pointed slightly angry voice. I cleared my throat, somewhat embarrassed by my wild burst into aggression that nobody could possibly understand, and moved my hand over my face, as I always do to calm myself down.

"Look, I'm just saying," Rick began, but for a moment I didn't even care what he was saying, "He's not like us, he's not a hunter like us. So I just wanna understand why you brought him along, that's all"

"Yeah? And how would you know?" I fired, while Sam now only gazed to and fro between us, as if he was watching a boxing match.

"Just saying… he doesn't look like he can fight"

"Oh, he can fight, trust me," I said, while my eyes moved to the ground and I had to smile with the mere memory of all the times you had fought heroically. You had pulled me out of the dirt so incredibly often already and saved me, I had lost count, and I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining how much of a fighter you were.

"He's acting kinda weird, though"

"Because he's a weird guy, okay?" I answered, my voice now more desperate to end this discussion than angry or annoyed, "He's a weird, dorky, little guy."

Just then I heard steps in the hall and saw you enter the room. We were all looking at you, just shutting our mouths. And god, I hoped you hadn't heard that last part. I couldn't have you think I was embarrassed of you or anything like that. I needed you to know just how much I wanted you here and just how much I was protecting you, but before I found words, I saw your smile, a weird strange and tense smile, but it was enough for me to keep quiet.

Though, after a little while of awkward silence hanging in the room, I was about to ask you what you had been doing outside, or if there was some kind of problem, or what was the matter, god, I just wanted so badly to ask you anything. But I was cut off by Rick, who wanted to talk more about the case. I lost any interest though, I couldn't even be excited anymore, not even for vampires. All I had to think about was you and how silently you were sitting there and how much of an asshole I was to not make sure you were okay. But then again, I never even knew what was going on in your head. You could look sad, when really you were just tired. You could look angry, when really you were just disappointed. And what scared me the most was when you looked calm, just like you did right then. For when you looked calm, you were mostly really sad. Or really angry. Or really disappointed. Or all of it at the same time.


	5. Chapter 5: The Blindness

**Chapter 5: The Blindness**

I remember how easy that hunt was. We had burst into some shady ramshackle barn, found them sleeping and unexpecting the attack, chopped off one head after another and then, for that building didn't belong to anyone and it was easier this way, blew the whole place up, walking out like the heroes we were, expressions of victory in our faces. After that we were sitting in some bar and celebrating the win of today. It was one of those greasy drinking holes where all sorts of miserable folks spent their nights. Some grasping to their half-empty bottles of beer at the bar, muttering about to the pitiable barkeeper, who sure as hell heard the same stories every night, some gathering in the back corner in half shadow, reminiscing about how great their lives used to be, and some others half-drunk playing pool in the other corner. The place was dark and unattractive, though had some kind of charm to it, with all the pictures of people I didn't recognize, and stuff like collage pennants or license plates nailed to the wooden walls. In its own weird and seedy kind of way it was comfortable and homey even.

Sam was playing with the bottle of already stale beer in his hands and only half-listened to Rick and me retelling the tale of how awesome we were. And you, you didn't say a word. You appeared to pay attention to us, though, with your eyes glancing at us and your hands and the rest of your body doing nothing. It seemed like you were observing us. And for in a way I thought observing was just your favorite thing to do, like a hobby or something like that, I didn't make you stop. I somewhat even ignored you, to be honest. I was too busy enjoying myself.

And so we were there joking and laughing like I hadn't done in a very long time, my eyes probably sparkling with still that vampire-induced glow, and I was happy. I was so sunshiny and perfectly pleased with myself and my life in that very moment, I didn't even care what was happening around me. I didn't notice how calmly outraged you gradually became, how much something was boiling inside you like soup someone forgot on the oven. I didn't know back then how much you hated this, how much you wanted to go home and leave. I didn't even realize how jealous you were, because it just didn't cross my mind. It's weird how blind we can be. But then again, that's what love does after all, isn't it? It makes you blind.

Blind to how it actually is. Blind to what's happening and what's to come. Blind to what they do and what they want and what they say and feel. We don't see all that, for we're too busy with our own feelings. But what if we could feel what everyone else feels? What if we just had to look into someone's eyes and see what's behind them, what they feel, what they're struggling with and what bothers them? What if we had a key to anyone's head? A key to reveal to us what we cannot see, because of how self-absorbed we are? It would make it all so much easier, right?

And what was it? It was you getting more and more angry with it all and jumping to conclusions I would have talked you out of, obviously, if only I had known. I would have told you that you matter, a lot. That you don't need to be jealous or angry or blind. I would have told you that we share something special, something that no one ever would be able to change. We had left a mark, on each of our lives. But then again, what some call marks are too often scars to others.

And then, some hours later, we said goodbye to Rick and drove back to the motel. Tomorrow we would head back home again and then all that rage and blindness would hopefully be over and we could get back to normal. After a quick shower to get rid of the last remains of vampire blood on my body, I hit the hay and so did Sam. I had been so excited and thrilled about everything that I had nearly forgotten just how sleepy I was. My eyes fell shut, as I was lying front down on the bed, my head nestled into the white-ish pillow and one of my legs lazily hanging off the edge of the mattress.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, still half-drunk, or at least as drunk as I could still get, considering my alcohol-proof liver, I ran a hand across my sweaty sleepy face, as I slowly opened one of my eyes. Said eye scanned the darkness of the room for a moment, when I abruptly jumped to my naked feet and did a few steps across the sticky carpeted floor. Sam was still fast asleep in his bed, but you weren't anywhere to be found. I walked to the bathroom, switched on the light in it for a moment, but you weren't in there either. I went to the window, pulled back the blinds to peer outside on the nearly empty parking lot, where, apart from Baby, there was only one other car, a big reddish truck with tires that would probably reach up to my hipbone. But you weren't outside either. So what I did then was panic for a brief moment, until I reached for my phone on the table in front of me and quickly typed around on its display, until I held it to my ear, biting on the thumb of my free hand and still staring out into the night through the smudgy window.

It rang several times, but you didn't answer. So I went back to the bathroom, shut the door behind me and sat down on the edge of the cold bathtub. I called you again, silently moving my lips to a _Come on, Cas, pick up, pick up, pick up_, but yet, you didn't answer, so I waited for the voicemail to kick in and left you a message.

"Hey, Cas," I whispered into the phone and into the dark cold room around me, "it's me… where are you, man? Uh… call me back, when you hear this, okay? Okay… bye"

I hung up and stared at my phone for a moment, while in my head all kinds of thoughts crossed and fought each other. I was worried. Mostly because I was scared that you were doing something stupid again, but also because I didn't like to not know where you were. I was so used to you being near me, following me around and being there. There to talk to you. For I hadn't woken up, just because I did, I had woken up, because I had had nightmares again. And whenever I had nightmares I always had you to go to and talk to. But what was I supposed to do, when you weren't here? Who was I supposed to talk to?

"Dean?" I heard the muffled sound of Sam's husky voice. I rose and opened the bathroom door to find him still half-lying on his bed and moving his hair out of his face, staring at me through half open tired eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked and sat up.

"Uh… nothing, I just…," I stammered and fought for words, until I decided this wasn't the right time for lies. "It's Cas. I dunno where he is"

"So? He probably just went for a walk or something." Sam assured me half-heartedly.

"Yeah… but…," I began, trailing off when my eyes fell back down on the phone in my hands, "he doesn't answer his phone. What if something happened?"

Sam glanced at me with both pity and worry in his eyes, when a lazy smile appeared on his face. "You two," he just said, as if that was supposed to cover it all, "Can't you stay apart for just a couple of hours? He'll be fine, Dean."

I shot him a look of disapproval, when I realized what he was thinking and not saying out loud. He thought this was cute, he thought my panic was something sweet and overprotective or whatever. When really, it was all but that. I was just worried. A lot.

"You shut up," I said firmly, but couldn't help a tiny smile spreading out on my lips and coughed it away, "maybe he got himself into trouble or something?"

"Dean, relax. Cas is a big boy, he can look out for himself. Trust me, he's fine. Now get back to bed, you look awful tired."

I knitted my brows and looked at him as if to say _you're not my mum, _then obeyed and went back to bed. Luckily, I was actually tired enough to fall back asleep, despite the mess of thoughts in my head. I was afraid, frightened, scared. I thought, what if you were in trouble somewhere and hoping for me to come and save you? What if while I slept, you would get hurt and I would find you all injured and messed-up the next day? Or worse, dead. I was scared that I hadn't said all the things I needed to say to you, that I hadn't loved you enough, that it hadn't gone the way you wanted it to. And all that fear made me realize one thing once again: it mattered. A lot.


	6. Chapter 6: The Sadness

**Chapter 6: The Sadness**

I remember when, a couple of days later and back at the bunker, everything seemed back to normal. We spent the days reading books, having take-away food together with Sam and just having some nice quiet time for once. Sometimes we would sit next to each other for hours with no word said. And I would steal a look or two at you every now and then, just to make sure you were still there and also imagining what we could be doing instead. It was like I had found that new unfamiliar urge inside me I had never known and somehow I wanted to explore it, but somehow I also really didn't. I was excited and scared both at the same time, constantly dragged to and fro between reason and no reason not to. I was constantly hoping you would just do something, anything, so I wouldn't have to choose what to do, but obviously you didn't. So I was there waiting, insecure and patiently.

And from the corners of my eyes, whenever I failed to concentrate on the text in front of me, I would examine the familiar face of yours. There was something about that face that I had liked from the start. Maybe it was your fuzzy hair or its soft shape or maybe it were your eyes, your blueish glowing eyes that sometimes seemed to be a light blue or nearly grayish blue, sometimes a nearly turquoise kind of color and sometimes they seemed a dark azure-ish color. They seemed to always transform with every possible change of circumstances, kind of like a mood ring, only that they didn't show the inside emotions, but those of the world around you. And I loved them, kindly and unenvying.

You were familiar to me, but the feelings you caused inside me really weren't. It was kind of like I was walking on a tightrope, trying to keep my balance between being what I know I am and knowing what I could be, always trembling, always still wincing back from the thoughts I had, always calmed by the realization that it was okay to feel what I felt. It felt right and wrong at the same time. And even when I had seemed to know who I am my entire life, just then I doubted if I really did. Because who was I? Who was I supposed to be? And am I supposed to be anything? I questioned all I ever thought to know, I questioned if I knew myself, I questioned if I even needed to decide and choose. For I didn't try to categorize myself into a species or type or peg myself as anything. I'm a human being, that much I knew. And that much was enough. And that would never fail to be true.

Then all of a sudden my phone rang and I startled out of my train of thoughts back into here and now. I picked up, my face rapidly changing from kind of calm into confused to shocked to devastated, all within only a few seconds. I couldn't help but look at you, with the phone still on my ear, as if to try and make any sense of the heard words in your eyes. But I found none. I hung up and felt my eyes tearing up, quickly trying to blink it away, for I didn't like to be seen crying. I felt that giant lump slowly but heavily crawling from my stomach up to my lungs and throat, making me swallow desperately and wishing I had a drink anywhere near me to make it shut up.

You were steadfastly staring at me with worry and question written all over your face and body, while I was clenching my teeth and trying to hold the eye contact. I told myself that if you saw me cry, it would hurt you just as much as it hurt me, and I didn't want to be just some kind of sadness in your eyes, some sick, broken, sad human being you like to look out for and take care of. I didn't want to be just that, so I would not cry. And I swallowed it back down from where it had come from, even though neither my throat nor my heart wanted to close, looking at you and faking a smile.

I put on the old mask of disguise, hiding my feelings from you, in order to keep you from feeling them as well. I build up my wall around me, sheltering me from revealing myself, build it up high and strong and sturdy, but yet it just couldn't hold it all back and stay upright and without getting any holes and cracks. And you still stared at me, as if to stare right into me and beyond, being able to tell what's true and what's not. And then I couldn't bear it any longer and looked away, at my hands, at the table, at the ceiling, and just anywhere you weren't.

"What's the matter?" you dared a quiet almost whispered question after a while.

I looked back at you and couldn't hold back all the suffering and pain inside me to burst out in a giant internal fit of emotions being felt.

"It's Rick," I gave back, barely audible, while staring at my hands again, as if to try and make them stop shaking that way, "he's dead."

You looked upset and remained silent. You were always like that. Moving your eyebrows either up or down, or sometimes both, looking at me with all the words in your eyes but not on your tongue. And I always wondered, how a single person was able to contain so much strength and calmness inside, and also how to learn not to get drawn away by feelings that much, the way I always did. You put a hand on my shoulder, one of your fingers barely touching my neck in a gentle caress.

"What happened?" you asked.

"Doctors say it was a heart attack," I replied and shook my head, for all of a sudden I was incredibly unconvinced of that fact, "but that… that's not how we die, right? I mean hunters don't die of something like that, we die bloody and messy and… supernatural"

I looked at you upset and even a bit annoyed, when you simply said, using one of your hackneyed sayings, "Sometimes things are what they seem to be, Dean."

"Nothing's what it seems, Cas," I shot back, feeling anger rise inside me, while my voice sounded almost squeaky when I added, "never!"

You lowered your head and said, "I'm sorry, Dean"

"What you're sorry for?"

"That was a well-worn phrase and…," you paused for a moment, then finally looking back into my eyes, "… and I'm sorry your friend is dead."

I ran my hands across my face and shook yours off my shoulder. Took a deep breath, trying to calm down, for I was aware that I wasn't mad at you personally, not even about your stupid words, but just because of the situation. I had lost a good man, a dear friend, once again, because I was living a life that was full of bullshit and hurt and death. That's just the way it is, and whenever I think differently, I get proved wrong, as the universe hits me with some new crap again. It was so unfair.

"I know it's a setback. A massive one even. And I'm not even close to being able to imagine how you feel right now, but…," you babbled along with seemingly no end, "… you will get through this."

"Yeah," I gave, and I would, eventually, but right now it felt like a clear No in my head and heart, "you've said that so often, I lost count"

A desperate smile grazed my lips at those last words, recalling all the times you had tried to comfort me, when I wasn't to be comforted.

"Because it never ceases to be true, Dean"

For a moment I couldn't help but simply look at you, feeling nothing all of a sudden, no despair, no sadness, no anger, nothing at all. Because another thought took in all of the space in my mind, drowning all the others, but only for now. And I said, "What if someday it ceases?"

And in a way I didn't even know myself what I meant by "it". It, your words being true? Or it, the fact that I would get through this? Or it, the thing between us? Probably a bit of all three. And then I allowed you to put your hand on my cheek, your thumb slightly stroking it and your eyes burying all my emotions, just for a brief instant, just enough to make me feel like I could get over it and get back onto my feet.


	7. Chapter 7: The Misery

**Chapter 7: The Misery **

My problem is and always was that nobody hates me more than I do. In the manner of speaking, I was dead inside. But sometimes it felt like something literal. And I felt worthless and messy and unmattering, as I sat on the floor in the middle of some night, leaning against a book case. I had almost finished the bottle of Scotch in my hand, but the pleasing comfort alcohol usually gave me didn't arise. I had started with a glass, but soon found that I couldn't pour the liquor into the glass fast enough for my increasing longing after it. I had thrown it away carelessly and it had shattered to peaces some feet away from me.

As you walked in, all worried and disturbed, I only gazed up at you with my eyes clouded and seeing my surroundings through some sort of haze. I felt numb and weary, tired and exhausted from all the misery inside me that didn't seem to be obscured, though, no matter how hard I tried. I had reached a new low in the never ending story of the disaster that is my life. Bad luck had struck and hit me again and some part of me wished it would finally be me who died and not everyone around me. But then again, bad luck was something I seemed to radiate like the sun its light. And every time I lost someone I seemed to grieve a little harder and worse and to be a little more unable to cope with it. My tried and tested method of handling such things appeared to be over the hill, for it just didn't want to work anymore.

You reached out a hand to me, probably to help me back on my feet, but I wasn't there just yet and also felt like I was right were I belonged, so in a sudden outburst of anger over how you didn't see that I slapped it away. And then you left the room and I cursed myself for being so stupid to push away the only person who always offered me his help.

However, a little later you came back, another bottle of Scotch in your hand. I noticed the distance you kept from me, though, I had probably scared you. You sat down next to me with a gap between us that seemed like a wide open canyon to me, while it was actually only a few inches. You put down the bottle and kept silent. Somehow I wished you would just say something, somehow I really wished you wouldn't. I wanted you to take away the pain. Extinguish the flames inside me and touch me like you always do, so I could fall into you and for you all over again and you could take away that foul stink I was radiating by being so miserable. You would say some catch-all phrase like _it's okay, it'll be all right _and then maybe also something amazing like _your heart isn't broken, Dean. It's only growing onward. _

But you always seemed to know better what I needed, so you kept quiet and wordless, because you knew I didn't need someone to talk to right now, I needed someone who was just here with me so I wouldn't be alone. And I had never been more thankful for it than I was right in that moment. For I needed you just as much as the alcohol in my blood. I needed you to look out for me, protect me from myself, when I was harming me once again by not understanding how to deal with myself. I deserved to be loved, to be shown that I was wrong, that I wasn't worthless and that I mattered to someone. I needed to be shown how alive I was. And you did. You did both, showed me how I became a person and why.

I felt your eyes on me and how you seemed to see how much I was blaming myself for it all. Because it was easier than to blame someone or something I wasn't even able to grasp. I didn't know if it had really been a heart attack or if someone had done that to Rick. In any case it was just a mere entity that I couldn't blame. I couldn't blame a heart attack for attacking his heart, because it just did its job then, and I couldn't blame someone else, because I didn't know who and if. So I blamed the only one whom I didn't have to explain why it's his fault: me.

I wasn't okay. I was pretty damn far from okay. My whole life I had believed that what we do was important, no matter what it cost, no matter who we lost, whether it was my dad or Bobby or whoever else. And I would take the hit, but kept on fighting, because I believed that we were making the world a better place. And now I didn't know anymore. I didn't believe anymore. And I didn't even know if a win would do the trick this time and put me back on my feet.

At some point within the comforting silence you opened the bottle and held it towards me with the bottom side. I instantly understood what you were going for and clinked bottles. The tiny sound of glass touching class seemed to drown out both the silence in the room and the loud mess inside my head for a brief moment. Here's to all the crap in the universe and to company in bad times. I emptied the remains of liquor in my bottle, downing it in a single sip, and for a second I felt the soft intoxication stirring my body. You did the same, only that your bottle was still full. But you downed it, just like that, as if it was nothing, as I recalled that you weren't human. Yet, you burped and I couldn't help but smile a little. A cautious little smile over your weirdness.

You weren't just a good friend, your weren't just family. You were someone who was always there for me, no matter what. Shelter and safety and help. You were all I never had, all I had always lacked. I needed you and your presence in the truest sense of the word, not only to stay alive, but to be alive and feel so. You made me stop remembering what happened and what sucked and was messed up and all the pain and suffering, and start looking forward and embracing life as it is, even when it was a giant pile of crap.

There are dreamers and realists in the world. You could think that dreamers seek for dreamers and realists for realists. But in reality the opposite is mostly the case. Dreamers need realists to not take off with all their wishful thinking. And realists need dreamers to not be stuck down at the ground, sad and not wishing for anything. I don't know which one of us is the dreamer and who's the realist, but I do know that we always saved each other from taking off and getting stuck, like a balloon and its string, kept from flying away, but never unable to move.

I knew I would be okay someday. I would get over it. I would get back on my feet and start hunting again and start trying to make the world a better place, yet and however, and one day I would believe in it again. Because that's what I do. Saving people, hunting things. The family business.


	8. Chapter 8: The Peanut Butter

**Chapter 8: The Peanut Butter**

I always knew there are different kinds of love. One. We can be sexually attracted to someone else, love someone's body, get aroused by their movements and traits, feel our sweat mixing up with theirs, as we rub bodies against each other, living the sweet sensation of sex and orgasm and getting off. It's passionate and ecstatic and blowing one's mind, and there's something about fucking someone and leaving afterwards, planning to never see them again, something cheeky and oddly amusing and sexy. But that's just sexual love, it's making love, nice and sweet and addicting, but not really the thing itself.

Two. We can be friends. We can love pretty much every detail about each other, share interests, laughs and jokes and just enjoy each other. We live our lives together, in some way, admiring one another, keeping them close, and try to never part. That's love, even when without the sexual aspect, or even being attracted to each other, but a different kind of love, not really the thing itself either.

Three. We can run into someone, who just happens to be just as broken and twisted as we ourselves are. Maybe even gone through some of the same crap, understanding each other, cherishing each other. Our hearts are broken at the same places. That's something like love, but still not the thing itself.

Four. We all have our families. Sharing the same DNA, sharing lives, siblings growing up with each other. We have our parents raising us, making us the persons we are, giving us things to think about, showing us the world. And we have siblings, who are raised the same way, but still grow to be different in their minds and hearts. We protect each other, comfort, talk, help, and betray sometimes. Sometimes family members are more than they're supposed to be, more than we could ever hope for. And sometimes they're full of crap. But family doesn't end in blood and so even people, who aren't family on the paper, are family in the heart. That's definitely love, in the truest sense of the word, but still not the kind of love I'm thinking about.

And then five. If we're lucky enough, we can find someone we truly and honestly, into the depths of ourselves, love and admire. We're attracted to them both, sexually and emotionally. We want to spend every single minute with them, want them to know everything about us, want them to see us, feel us, touch us, love us. We desperately need them close and closer than possible, for the helpless longing to get more and more of them, like an addict and his drug. We get all worked up about them and lose our heads, and we fall, deep and endlessly and without a bottom we can hit. We're nervous and excited and desperate and longing, all at the same time and all the time and forever. It becomes almost all that matters, it invades and devours our entire mind, takes control of it. And then we're lost. That's love. Finding someone we feel that way for is like finding someone who's both the fire and the water extinguishing it. The author of a story, the protagonist, the sidekick and the teller. And we're left being the story told, for we're that someone's something, even when we're still also our us.

And I remember when I sat in the kitchen in the middle of the night, still confused and angry and desperate, and you came to me. With my favorite drink for bad times I was sitting cross-legged on top of the table, staring at my fingers and considering whether or not it would suck just as much to lose one of them. You slowly stepped into the room and sat down on the chair in front of me then, but I didn't really pay as much attention to you as I should have.

You stared into my eyes, and even when it might have looked like I was staring back, I really wasn't. I was stuck in my own head, thinking, considering, pondering. I was so tired of fighting, so tired of having to go through such things, losing people over and over again. One may think I had gotten used to it by now, but death is something you never get used to. We try to handle it, try to cope with it, and whether our way of dealing with it is good or bad, that's up to us to decide. I had chosen my way of dealing long ago and sometimes it worked and sometimes it really didn't.

And see what I've become. I was a monster, pushing everyone away, hiding myself in my head, poisoning myself with liquor. When really, I was the poison. I was the poison for everyone around me. People who got close to me, they got killed. And sometimes I would pray to god not to take any more from me, for I still believed there was a god. But I wasn't sure he still believed in me. And then there was that edge. That edge I was constantly hovering about, the abyss I could fall into. The mere darkness in myself, if I ever dove into it, I'm sure I would never get back out. And I would believe that the people who love me, they would hold me back from that edge. But the truth is, I was past saving. Sooner or later I would fall, and I would fall long and deep and never come back up. Maybe not now, maybe not even the next time, but one day I would.

And then you suddenly did what had seemed impossible and startled me out of my trance, asking, "Peanut butter?"

I finally looked at you, really looked at you, and shook my head no. I examined your face as if I was seeing it for the first time, when really, it was just weird to see the real one, while I had seen its image in my head all day. My hold around the bottle in my hand tightened, as I was starting to think that maybe there was more to this than I had thought. I led it to my mouth in attempt to take a sip and drown the thought that felt somewhat wrong thinking. But you put your hand on mine, stopping me and advising me to stop with only your eyes.

"Peanut butter." You ordered, making me give up. You rose and made me the sandwich, I had never asked for and didn't intend to eat, and handed it to me. Somehow I felt embattled and abused even, urged to eat when I really didn't want to, but I did as I was told.

"You're such a pain in the ass," I said with a throaty voice, but couldn't help a smile grazing my lips.

"I know," you answered, as our eyes met. It felt like there was some kind of energy being exchanged between us that seemed to do both, heal me and calm me down. And there it was, the thing more I had spoken about. You and I, we were like the ship and its lifeboat, like the gas pedal and the break, like a lock and its key. Like the balloon and its string. You saved me from drowning, kept me from crashing, opened me up and understood me in a way no one did. You were the one keeping me from taking off and giving in and falling down the abyss. Like the light for my darkness. We were just better together.

"I know you are doing bad," you said into the silence after a while, making me look up from my sandwich.

"I'm fine," I said, so used to pretending that I didn't even consider it a lie.

"No." You decided, "You are not. It's fine to grieve, it's fine you're having difficulties to deal with it, but -"

"I am dealing with it," I cut you off with a calm and steady voice, though getting kind of angry and trying not to yell.

"Yes," you gave back. "No," you said then. "You are not dealing with it, you drown it in alcohol. That at most counts as numbing the pain, though doesn't heal your wounds and your anger and your grief, Dean."

I stared at you, getting all furious, but also horrified over the thought you could think I was failing. And I considered again and came to the conclusion that I wasn't. I was doing just fine, excellent even.

"I thought, perhaps it's time to start hunting again," you suggested out of the blue.

I heavily disagreed. "What for? To get myself some injuries? To see people die? Or rather to kill someone, because oh right, I'm meant for that?"

I felt pure rage coming right up from deep down in a giant lump of emotions, for it hadn't felt like I had asked you those questions, but only myself. I didn't want to get anyone in danger, I didn't want to see someone die, not even some monster, I didn't want to see blood and cuts and bullet wounds and act like all that was normal. I didn't want to be what everyone seemed to believe I was meant to be.

"You know," you started again after some moments, "Rowina once said, nothing makes wounds heal better than opening new ones."

"Oh, now we're listening to something Rowina, that bitch, said?" I fired back, my voice shaking with anger. I wanted to go on about how wrong she was and how wrong it was to listen to her, but you replied faster than I could take a breath.

"Just because we can't stand her, doesn't mean her words can't hold wisdom in them, Dean," you said. And looking into your determined but concerned eyes, I suddenly knew then that you were right. I needed to deal with my feelings, really feel them, let them all out and see how many of them there were. Examine them, sort them out, and then declare them felt and done and eventually shove them away. I needed to talk about them to someone, even when words couldn't even begin to describe the pain. But then again, nothing really can, right?


	9. Chapter 9: The Ocean

**Chapter 9: The Ocean**

I had denied the suggestion to go back hunting. Of course I had. If I would go try and help people, I knew I would have to be concentrated. Aimed and armored. Myself. But I didn't feel like I was. I thought, maybe I wasn't that guy anymore. The guy who saves the world. The guy who always thinks he'll win. All I felt was losing. And maybe I even doubted the whole thing, doubted that I had ever been that person. I played the hero, had acted like I was something special throughout all of my life, like I was supposed to do good and supposed to be good. But deep down underneath that pretend shell, I was no more than a killer. With oceans of blood on my hands.

But for all the grief and misery, at some point I seemed to pull myself together and out of my self-pity and start getting better. Time heals all wounds, doesn't it? So one day, I remember, I was walking down the hallways of the bunker, searched the kitchen, the library, the store rooms, even the garage. But after a long while I only found you in the room I least expected you. In your room. I don't know why we even called it that, for you never actually used it. You didn't need a bed to sleep in, or a wardrobe or a desk or whatever else. It was really just some sort of spare room we happened to call Cas' room. So I stepped into it and found you on the bed.

"Cas, you need to see this," I said, holding up the newspaper in my hand. I sat down beside you, feeling the pleasant touch of your body against mine, feeling like I had awoken from a year of sleep and no touch whatsoever. I held out the newspaper, the front page holding the article I was talking about.

"Who is that?" you asked confusedly and turned to look at me. I felt your eyes so close to my face, your breath grazing my skin in a soft wave of warm air and your scent in my nose, inhaling it like a drug I had too long denied. Our noses almost touched, as I looked back into your eyes and almost forgot about what I had come here for. The moment I remembered again, I turned away and back to the piece of paper in your lap and pointed at the bottom left corner, concerned I would fall over if I bended any more over you. I felt your chest against my arm, your heartbeat and your breathing, as if I was trying to check if you were still alive or real. Felt your breath against my neck now, tickling and giving me goosebumps all over. I was only half doing it on purpose, I told myself, when really, I fully did. I needed to feel you near me, because I hadn't for a long time.

"Not this," I said then, as I realized that you were looking at the top article about some real estate guy, "that!"

"Look how stupid he looks!" I almost squeaked, meaning Garth in the small picture in the middle of a crowd, visibly unflatteringly caught by the camera. I could tell you were smiling near my face and staring at me, while I was just laughing. Then I suddenly felt your hand on my back, slowly running it up and down and then up to my neck, halting for a moment, and then it was gone as fast as it had appeared. I looked at you, your eyes filled with all the affection and friendliness I needed and had hoped for, and I fell into them as if they were a deep peaceful ocean.

I felt as if chains were taken from me. As if I had been leashed like a dog, or captivated like the criminal killer I was, or kept enslaved. Like an attack animal, meant to kill anyone I was told, no brain for itself, no freedom. But you released me, you kept making me think about myself, you calmed me down and lifted me up and comforted me like the friend and family you were, and loved me like the More you are.

And in that very moment, I seemed to realize into the depth of my conscious and into every fibre of my body, just how much in love with you I was. When we had first met, I never would have thought we would end up like this, become what we are. I hadn't liked you at first, I had been scared of you, horrified even. But then we had become friends and then friends became family, and look at us now. Then again, there's nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly. You had gotten so important in my life and head and heart that at the end of the day every thought got somehow connected to you and to how you would think about it.

And now, inside the happier part of my head, I did expect a lot from you. I would expect you to be there for me whenever I needed you, that you listen to whatever rant I'm on about again, or whatever crazy train of thoughts is bothering me. I expected you to be a friend and a brother and a psychiatrist sometimes even. But basically just someone I could talk to about anything. And sometimes I might have even imagined us - and with that imaginarily expected you - to be together, in the truest and fullest meaning of it. And you lived up to all those expectations. Always and even beyond.

I was in love. I was so deeply _in _it that I never could be getting back out of it, it seemed. Like that abyss that was threatening to devour me, only brighter and happier and right here. It filled my body with so much emotion and power and strength, like it was replacing all the blood inside my system, like the ocean, only with energy for water. Sweeping and swooping to and fro and back and forth like a force I wasn't able to fight. Constantly appearing and disappearing, like it was air being breathed. Things always come and things always go. And I just hoped this thing would stay long enough for me to truly have it.


	10. Chapter 10: Cursed

**Chapter 10: Cursed**

I've been through so much in my life. And it feels like every single bit of crap being thrown in my face changes me a little more. It's like the bacteria you get into your system throughout all your life. Some might make you sick, some might go through unnoticed, and some even stay inside you, become a part of your colony and change it forever. With everything we swallow, everything we inhale, everything we touch and everyone we kiss, we keep on changing ourselves, sometimes poisoned by them, sometimes not. And if we think about it, we're the ones in charge in a way, for we're the ones swallowing and inhaling and touching and kissing. We're the ones deciding which to get into our systems and with that also which to let us change.

I don't know about myself, though. I don't take good care of what I eat and touch, I don't care if the air I breathe is good or bad or what swims in it. I just know that I keep changing. I've changed when I started hunting with Sam again, when I lost dad, when I found out about the trade of souls. God knows I've changed when I lost Sammy, got him back and then went to hell for him. Hell's made me a cold-blooded torturer, one who doesn't care who's in front of him, slicing flesh, spilling blood, giving pain. And enjoying it. I'm not sure I've ever recovered from that, but when I've been back to earth and met you, even though I didn't believe in it at first, I've started to think that maybe I could redeem myself. Be saved. And I knew that you would be the one saving me in the end.

And I remember when were still sitting on that bed. You leaned against the headpiece of it and I sat cross-legged somewhere at the center. Your legs were spread out and your hands awkwardly resting in your lap, as if you didn't know how to use them or for what. You were tense and stiff and seemed uncomfortable. Then again, you always seemed that.

I was reading that newspaper, nothing actually catching my attention and feeling your eyes observing me again. I kind of got used to it. But still it kept me from concentrating, as my thoughts were only circling around you. I pretended to read, while really I was thinking about what to do with you. It was not like I was new to the whole thing, but it was different now. I knew how to act around girls, I didn't know how to act around you. I didn't know what exactly it was that you wanted and how far I could take this, how far I wanted it to go. It was as if within me the desperate longing for you was constantly fighting against the hesitant doubts and fears. So it was, in fact, new. Weird and strange and awkward and exciting, too.

But all those words don't even begin to describe it as it was. They are like catch-all terms we need to say for a lack of other words, no matter what language of the world we use. We cannot know what we cannot name, which is true in a way, but it's also wrong in so many ways. I knew what I had and what I felt, even if I couldn't name it. I knew how it tickled in my soul, how it made my heart pound heavily against my ribcage whenever I just thought of it, I knew how it did both, choked me and gave me air to breathe, it excited me so much I wanted to jump off a bridge and die and be reborn again only to relive it from the start. In a way I minimized myself to this very feeling you caused inside me. But in all the ways, I was also growing and changing and widening in every way imaginable.

I looked up from the piece of paper in my hands and to you, actually finding you peering. You instantly turned away as if ashamed. I snorted in amusement, for you looked funny when embarrassing yourself. You acted like you were examining the blank walls of the room, as if there was anything to see, so concentrated and fascinated you made yourself look. Your head held high like the superior creature you were, your eyes uneasy like the insecurity you felt. And your mouth formed a little smile then, when you looked back at me through the corners of your eyes.

"You know," I started in attempt to make the first step, putting down the newspaper, "we could as well talk about it"

You knitted your brows as if not to understand the words I had said. I dearly needed you to get me, to comprehend what I was on about. I acted confident, but inside me I was so nervous and unsure of myself, that I didn't even know what to say first. I just wanted it to be done, I wanted to sort things out, I needed to know where we were.

"About what?" you answered, crushing all my hopes of it to be easy.

"You know," I said, as if to order you to know. I did a wave of my hand between us to make it clearer to you, but you only looked like I was trying to make you understand the mechanics of a Transformer or the meaning of some idiom.

"I mean…," I began again, trailing off and staring at the sheets, as if the words I was searching for were written there, "… u-us… we… our… come on, do I really need to say it out loud?"

You tilted your head, like you always did when trying to read my mind, and I felt naked into every fibre of my body. Then, when I was nearly about to wave it aside, because of all my desperation and incapability, you said, "You mean… the kiss?"

The sigh of relief shooting out of me then felt like I had been grazed by a bullet, closing my eyes for the mere realization that it hadn't killed me. "Yeah," I simply replied, my voice almost a whisper.

Silence fell over us then, though I felt like we both wanted to talk about it, however unsure of what to say exactly. It had happened weeks ago, yet it felt like yesterday to me.

Then, all of a sudden and out of the blue, I felt your hand on my knee, urging our eyes to meet again. Your bright smile that seemed to enlighten the entire bunker, including myself, made me smile, too. It felt like you finally came up with an idea, while I was there, miserably helpless.

"Good things do happen, Dean," you said, making the images of the memory of how we had first met shoot through my brain and body like the bolts of a thunderstorm. Bobby and I had scribbled all kinds of crazy symbols onto some walls, because we hadn't known what we're dealing with. And then you had appeared and I had tried to kill you with all ammunition and armor I had, only to find out that nothing works.

My smile widened, as I repeated another sentence of our past, "We're just better together."

And we were staring into each other's eyes, with smiles still in place and I just couldn't hold back any longer. I put my hand in your neck, pulled you closer and sealed the unspoken deal with our lips. There was no trading of souls, no giving one for another, no losing one to hell. There was only two souls connecting and choosing to be one.

This was our story. A great story about love and heartache and loss, a lot of loss. About fear and rage and losing and outrage over all of it. About being lonely and then together. About developing and changing and becoming what we are. We had stumbled and tumbled and been broken and lost. Suffering from our pasts and presents and maybe eventually also from our future. But look at us now. We weren't always good, but we were always trying to do good. And as long as we had each other, nobody could fight us, no matter how broken we were, no matter how damned we were. Because I'd rather have you, cursed or not.


End file.
